The Young Yagers

CHAPTER ONE.

THE CAMP OF THE YOUNG YAGERS.

Near the confluence of the two great rivers of Southern Africa--the
_Yellow_ and _Orange_--behold the camp of the "young yagers!"

It stands upon the southern bank of the latter stream, in a grove of
Babylonian willows, whose silvery foliage, drooping gracefully to the
water's edge, fringes both shores of the noble river as far as the eye
can reach.

A tree of rare beauty is this _Salix Babylonica_--in gracefulness of
form scarce surpassed even by the palms, the "princes of the forest."
In our land, as we look upon it, a tinge of sadness steals over our
reflections. We have grown to regard it as the emblem of sorrow. We
have named it the "weeping willow," and draped the tomb with its soft
pale fronds, as with a winding-sheet of silver.

Far different are the feelings inspired by the sight of this beautiful
tree amid the _karoos_ of Southern Africa. That is a land where springs
and streams are "few and far between;" and the _weeping_ willow--sure
sign of the presence of water--is no longer the emblem of sorrow, but
the symbol of joy.

Joy reigns in the camp under its shade by the banks of the noble Orange
River, as is proved by the continuous peals of laughter that ring clear
and loud upon the air, and echo from the opposite shores of the stream.

Who are they that laugh so loudly and cheerfully? _The young yagers_.

And who are the young yagers?

Let us approach their camp and see for ourselves. It is night, but the
blaze of the camp-fire will enable us to distinguish all of them, as
they are all seated around it. By its light we can take their
portraits.